R is for Revenge
by Hailsy
Summary: Before he was sent to jail Neal was commissioned to forge a painting, however Neal refused to do it and now a seriously pissed off man is out to get him - and he's got a hostage. Neal whumpage! Rated T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

Hey, so I'm a first time White Collar fanfic writer though I've read a whole lot out there and I thought I'd give it a go. I'm an absolute sucker for Neal whump but we'll see if I'm actually any good at writing it. Please be kind and review! I'll update faster!

Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar. If I did there would be whump in every episode!

* * *

Neal Caffrey sat in the passenger seat of the Ford Taurus twisting and untwisting his newly won pen. With each _click _as the nub slid out of the bottom he could see Peter growing more and more frustrated.

"I'll take it back if you don't stop doing that," Peter warned.

Neal turned to his friend and partner with his most charming smile plastered onto his face. "Take my hard earned pen? You wouldn't" He twisted the top again. "No, you couldn't." _Click._ Peter's hand snaked out, lunging for the object of his annoyance.

"Uh-uh Peter, this is mine," Neal pulled his hand away. He laughed at Peter's sigh of frustration.

"I only gave the thing to you to shut you up." Peter stopped the car at a set of red lights and turned to his partner. "So shut it or give it back."

With a smirk Neal made a big show of placing the pen in his pocket. As the light turned green and Peter accelerated past through the traffic lights Neal turned to looked out the window.

"Peter! Look out!"

There was a metallic crunch as the two cars collided in the middle of the intersection. Peter had reacted quickly with Neal's warning and managed to avoid a full on crash, instead the second car clipped the back end of the Taurus pushing it out of the intersection and into a slight a slight spin.

Inside the car Neal braced himself with one hand against the dashboard and the other up over his head. It had wacked against the window at the first moment of impact. Peter had his own death grip on the steering wheel to keep from being flung about.

After what felt like hours the car rocked to a stop.

"Neal? Are you ok?" Peter brushed glass off himself and turned, wincing, to his partner.

Neal nodded and immediately regretted it. He waved off his friend's concerned expression. "I'm fine Peter, just bumped my head." At this stage witnesses to the crash had reached the car and Peter's door was wrenched open.

"Is everyone ok in here?"

"Hey! Catch that man!"

Peter was helped out of the car in time to watch the driver of the other car take off down the street with several civilians going after him. Peter wanted to go after him but concern for Neal kept him at the car where several people were trying to get the passenger door open.

Neal grew impatient and simply scooted across the seat.

"You should have stayed sitting," Peter scolded.

"I'm fine Peter, and sitting out here beats sitting in that thing. Normally I'm not a fan of your driving," Neal joked. He let his head drop into his hands, holding it against the headache that was pounding away at his temples. "But this time I think I'll let it pass."

Sirens heralded the arrival of paramedics. Peter brushed them off and went to look at the other car.

"This wasn't an accident," he turned to Neal while pointing at the tangled mess of the cars. "Did you get a look at the guy before he ran?"

Neal blinked and tried to wave away the paramedic who was shining a bright light into his eyes. "Yeah, I recognised him." He turned back to the paramedic. "Can I go now?"

"Recognised him?" Peter wandered back over to Neal. He hadn't asked that. He'd simply asked if Neal had seen him. "Is there something you need to tell me Neal?" He stood over the ex-con with his serious face on.

Anything Neal was about to say was interrupted by the paramedic. "I really think Mr Caffrey should come with us to the hospital. He may have a concussion."

"That's really not necessary," Neal told them.

"No, I agree with the paramedics," Peter told his partner. "And we can talk once we get there."

...

Four hours later Neal and Peter walked out of the hospital. Peter had called Elizabeth when they first arrived to tell her they were ok and the doctors had confirmed it and a minor concussion for Neal before sending them off with some mild painkillers for Neal's headache.

Elizabeth drove them home insisting Neal crashed in the spare room.

"But first I want to know why someone tried to kill us. Spill it Neal, what aren't you telling me?"

Neal rubbed at his temples for a moment deciding just how much he wanted Peter to know.

Finally he took a breath and told Peter and Elizabeth the story.

"Before you caught me I was approached by these men. They wanted me to forge a painting. I refused. What they did involved guns and people getting hurt. I don't do that."

"You just forged paints for the money," Peter stated.

"Allegedly." Even exhausted Neal's grin never lost its charm.

"To sum it all up these men weren't happy. They swore revenge and such but then I was in jail and I've been out now for over a year and never heard from them again." Neal yawned. "Now I'm off to bed. It's been a long day." He stood and left Peter and Elizabeth exchanging worried glances.

"Go to bed honey," Peter picked up his phone. "I'm going to call Hughes and get a protective detail over here. Hopefully in the morning we'll get the whole story from Neal."

...

Neal woke up in the spare room at Peter's house. The morning sun shone through the windows provoking the headache that had disappeared during the night.

Neal pulled himself out of bed and trudged downstairs and spotted Elizabeth at the kitchen table.

"Well good morning sleepy head," she greeted him cheerfully. "There's coffee in the kitchen and you know where we keep the cereal."

Neal ducked into the kitchen for coffee and food then joined Elizabeth at the table. "Peter's at work then?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Oh Neal, what have you gotten yourself into?"

"I did nothing," Neal complained. "And that's the problem."

Neal spent the morning under house arrest with Elizabeth. The driver who had crashed into Peter's car hadn't been caught. At one point Neal went upstairs to change from his pyjamas. He noticed his phone by the bed had one new message on it.

_**Bit of a bumpy ride huh? That was merely a warning. Next time we'll get you.**_

Neal put the phone down quickly. How had they got his number? He didn't want to think about it. Peter was at work trying to figure out who was after Neal and there were men outside watching the house. Neal retrieved his phone again and typed a quick message. He didn't want to give too much away. Peter was digging around in the past and that was dangerous. Neal did not want to go back to jail. He sent the message to Peter. It read: _**Look for a Richard Tayland.**_

Richard Tayland was a dangerous man. Yes he loved the money, but he also loved fear. When Richard wanted something he was never afraid to threaten others to achieve it. Neal hated his approach, even before he met the man personally. There was just no subtlety in his method. It wasn't creative or artful. He simply waved around his guns and showed off his goons and the job got done.

Neal was first brought before Richard five years ago. He didn't work through any of the normal channels like most cons, sending feelers out and arranging meets. No, Richard sent his goons to pick Neal up one night, trashing the young man's apartment and capturing the forger to drag back to the boss.

Then Neal had had the balls to tell the man no. He already had an FBI tail and for all his thievery Neal did have a certain set of morals. He didn't like guns. Working for Richard would ultimately end in disaster. Neal knew that. His opinion did not go down well with his potential boss, no did Richard respond well to Neal escaping the building he'd been kept with. He spent the next two months evading not just Peter Burke who was trying to put his arse in jail, but he'd also had to keep himself and Kate moving every time Richard found them again. It had almost been a relief to be sent to jail and to discover that Kate was being left alone. After almost a year out of jail Neal had hoped Tayland had lost him for good or maybe given up. But now things weren't looking promising.

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It wasn't a particularly long chapter but I'll work on that. Hope you enjoy and please review!


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys. As some of you may have noticed from some of my language, I'm not American and so sometimes write 'arse' instead of 'ass' or accidentally throw in some Aussie slang. I've tried to fix little bits like that, but if I miss things then I'm sorry and I'll try not to confuse any one too much with the crazy way I speak :)

I apologise if I've made any spelling/grammatical errors and once again I do not own White Collar, I simply enjoy abusing it's characters.

* * *

Neal and Elizabeth were watching movies when the phone rang. Elizabeth answered.

"Stacy Miligan? Yeah, she's a friend. Oh, they're both here? No, that's fine they're right. Ok, thank you." Elizabeth hung up the phone. "Stacy and John Miligan are friends," she explained to Neal who looked up warily from the couch. Out in the street a car backfired. It sounded very much like a gun shot. Moments later there was a knock on the door and Elizabeth went to open it. Neal sprang up from the couch.

"Elizabeth, wait!"

A woman around Elizabeth's age burst through the door followed with a man. The man held a gun.

"Liz I'm so sorry!" The woman burst into tears. "He just showed up at my house and he had a gun." Stacy took huge gulping breaths between each word. Elizabeth pulled her friend over to her and Neal stepped in front of both women.

"You're not the only slippery bastard around here Caffrey." The man grinned. "Your fed friends are currently indisposed. Some sort of commotion up the block. A hostage situation, all hands were needed."

Neal took a step forward. "Okay, you found me. You can have me. Leave Elizabeth and her friend and I'll go quietly."

The man laughed. "Oh but where's the fun in that?" The gun that he waved about went off sending two small charges at Neal. It was a taser, Neal thought briefly before the electric current coursed through him and the world around him faded to black.

...

Kate had always hated turbulence. Neal would tease her on flights and laugh as she clutched at his hand. Kate would be hating this, Neal thought groggily as he bounced. He wasn't enjoying it much either he decided and then he threw up.

There was a grunt of disgust from beside him but Neal couldn't find the source of the sound. He had been blindfolded. As he became more aware of his surroundings, and of the pounding of his head, Neal realised he must have been in a car or maybe a van given that he was lying down. The scratchy carpet under his cheek had given him a fiction burn.

He wondered if Elizabeth and her friend were alright and if they'd called Peter but then a stunning blow to the head cancelled all other thought and he sank once again into unconsciousness.

When Neal came to again he was no longer blindfolded, though the ground still felt like it was moving. His hands were tied together. Neal discovered this as he shifted slightly against the cold concrete and opened his eyes. He wasn't in the car any more he was in a room of some sort. Swallowing down his nausea Neal pushed himself upright. The room was small and dank. It had no defining features and the door on the far corner didn't appear to have a lock or a door handle. The dark little room had no windows. The small amount of light came from a single exposed light bulb that dangled from the roof.

He waited for someone to arrive and brag about their grand plans for him. That's how these things worked right? But no one came through the door. Neal was left in the cold and badly lit room for hours, sitting up against the wall waiting for his head and his stomach to settle so he could investigate his small prison. He drifted off in that position and was awoken later by something nudging his foot and then a fist in his stomach.

"Ugh." Neal doubled over, his nose almost touching the floor as he fought to regain his breath.

"Ah, he's awake. Very good."

Neal sat up slowly and took in the imposing figure before him. Richard Tayland was a large man of towering flesh and wiry muscle. Had he decided weapons and guns weren't for him, he wouldn't have been any less threatening.

"Neal Caffrey. Look at you. You're a mess." Tayland gestured to the small cuts inflicted in the previous day's car accident. "Life on the outside just doesn't agree with you it seems. You were much safer in prison. Much safer." He grinned at his little joke. "But now you're here and once again we can get down to business."

"Ah, there it is; the bragging." Neal mumbled to himself. "Right on track."

"Hmm?" Tayland crouched down closer to Neal's height. "Bragging? Oh no. This is a business arrangement. Last time we met I... hm, asked you for a favour and I was offering a very generous sum for this favour."

"It was generous," Neal agreed. "You also wanted your trigger happy thugs watching me. What sort a business arrangement is that? Of course I had to decline." Neal affected the tone he would use when dealing with high class clients. Apart from hiding the small tremor in his words it pissed Tayland off to no end who replied dryly.

"Of course."

"I'm still saying no. I'm not forging a painting for you."

"Oh that's right," Tayland's smile grew sinister. "What was I thinking? You're a reformed conman. You would never help the likes of me, but I sure we can come up with something. You're right handed yes?" He beckoned two of his men forward. One held a struggling Neal white the other untied the bindings around his wrists. His left arm was held out so it was not touching either the wall or the floor.

"No. No!" Neal struggled as a large booted foot came down on his arm. He felt the bones shift and he screamed as they snapped.

The man holding him down released him and backed away.

"We only need that right hand for a painting Neal," Tayland warned. "And you have plenty more bones in your body. We'll let you think about it. Make the right decision."

Richard Tayland and his men left, shutting the door behind them. The room was plunged back into semi-darkness and Neal, no longer quite sitting up against the wall, but not quite lying down, clutched at his broken arm and tried not to throw up.

...

Peter spent the morning researching Neal's past for all the good it did him. Over the years leading up to his capture and arrest Peter had poured over the files and still knew them like he knew Elizabeth's face. He'd spent plenty of time staring at both over the years.

Neal had given him nothing to go by. It frustrated Peter. How much was Neal still keeping from him? They'd been partners for almost a year and there was still so much Peter didn't know or Neal wouldn't tell for fear they'd stumble upon something that would send him back to jail. Peter knew there was more than what the former conman had actually been convicted for, but now Neal was in some sort of trouble and Peter was getting nowhere with the investigation. The man who'd crashed into his car had escaped. Apparently he'd ran to a nearby underground parking lot and stolen a car. It had been found in the early hours of the morning abandoned in one of the quieter streets.

He threw down the file he was looking through and stepped out of his office. "Have you found anything?" He called down to Jones who was reading through files too. Diana was out watching the house and would report back later that afternoon.

"I'm guessing Neal has pissed a lot of people off," Jones commented. "Curators, private owners there's too many to narrow it down to the one person."

"Yeah, well keep looking. Maybe we'll find something." Peter walked back into his office. His phone in his pocket beeped a new message. _**Look for a Richard Tayland.**_ Perhaps Neal was going to help out after all. Richard Tayland. The name sounded familiar. Peter stuck his head back out the door.

"Get me anything you can find on Richard Tayland." A couple of the officers looked up and nodded. Jones stood up and walked up the stairs to talk to Peter.

"You found something then?" He asked his boss. Peter showed the message from Neal.

"It's a start. And I want to a full report on him. Who he is, who he works for and what he'd want with Neal." Peter's phone rang in his hand. He answered and listened for a moment before hanging up.

"Change of plan," he told Jones. His heart was thudding loudly in his chest. "Let's get Agent Gelderen working on that, you're coming with me back to my place. Neal and Elizabeth are missing."

Diana was going to kill the Agents she had been assigned to work with. She sat on the front porch of the Burke's house allowing a paramedic to clean up the cut on her forehead. Mostly she was pissed at herself for letting a crook jump her and knock her unconscious.

Another car pulled up to the house. Agent Burke and Jones jumped out and rushed over.

"What happened Agent Barrigan?" Peter asked, going all formal on her.

"I'm sorry sir. There was some commotion up the street. Guns were fired. Those two," she pointed at the two other agents, "went to assess the situation."

The two agents in question were apprehending a man. One walked up to the porch. "We believed they were after Mr Caffrey and hit the wrong house. We didn't suspect it was a distraction. He heard the gun shots and figured we were closer than the local law enforcement"

The paramedic finished patching Diana up and left the Agents to talk.

"Still, something didn't feel right." She stood up. "Agent Morgans here cleared a couple of Elizabeth's friends to approach the house. I went to check it out once these two disappeared. Neal was unconscious on the floor and the suspect had a taser." Diana rubbed her arm where it got hit. It still smarted. "I went down and caught my head on the table by the door. They were gone by the time Agents Morgans and Fentz got back to the house."

That bastard had taken his wife, Peter thought, and if Caffrey had given them more information maybe they could have prevented it. Agent Fentz had arrived to join them.

"You two," Peter ordered. "I want statements. I want to know how that man," he pointed at the apprehended suspect, "is connected to all this, and I want you out of my sight."

Trailed by Jones and Diana, Peter walked into his house. Forensics was already inside collecting evidence and he could hear Satchmo howling in the laundry where, presumably, he'd been locked to keep him out of the way.

He could hear Elizabeth's friend in the kitchen talking to another officer. He went in to hear her statement.

"...and then the agent appeared and he shot her too." Stacy was sobbing as she spoke. "Then it was just me and El. He shoved me and he hit El. I didn't do anything, I just sat there." A fresh wave of tears flowed down her face. "I was so scared. Then the van pulled up. It was waiting around the corner. Another man came inside and they grabbed El and her friend, then they were gone."

"What did this van look like?" Peter asked. "Did you see it?"

"Uh...uh, it was blue. I didn't really see the license plate. Um, there was an A and a Q. I'm so sorry Peter."

"You did your best Stacy." Peter sighed. He needed to get back to the headquarters to interview the man who caused the distraction down the street. Maybe he'd shed new light on this case. Forensics were finishing up and Peter wasn't looking forward to a night in an empty house.

He found a can of dog food for Satchmo and fed the dog, then caught a lift with Jones back to the office.

...

"You can't take me off this!" Peter was trying hard to keep his voice low. Hughes had taken him off the case and the interview had not gone well.

"I know Neal better than anyone else here. I have the best chance of finding who did this and you know it."

Hughes shook his head. "You're too deeply involved in this one Peter. Those reports you put together on Caffrey are complete and comprehensive. Our Agents will get to the bottom of this one and I won't have your fears for your wife getting in the way."

"My fears for my- " Peter spluttered, "Elizabeth is out there and I'll be damned if I'm going to just sit around waiting for answers."

"Go home Peter, if we need you we'll call you but right now we're better off without you."

* * *

AN: Whoop. Another update. Hope you enjoyed. Our Internet is screwing up at the moment so I was delayed a bit it posting it. Maybe if you all review our Internet will magically fix itself... yes? yes? Ha, well it was worth a shot.


	3. Chapter 3

Yay. The Internet gods have decreed that, yes, I can go online to update this story. All praise the almighty Internet! Ha, well here is the next chapter. I've been trying to get ahead just in case I hit writers block and I don't think this is going to be a very long story. I suck at drawing these things out, but let's see shall we?

Of course, the usual disclaimer. I do not own White Collar.

* * *

Neal wasn't sure how he had managed to drift off, but somehow he had fallen asleep after Richard and his men had left him. His left arm had swollen up below the elbow and Neal was sure he could feel and even hear the pulsing of the blood in his arm as it worked around the swollen flesh. _Thud, thud_, it was a feeling that was echoed in the thumping of his headache.

Neal's mouth was dry and tasted sour. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast – when? Yesterday? – but the thought of food at that moment wasn't particularly appealing. He needed to find a way to buy himself more time. He knew Tayland wouldn't be satisfied with the one painting. He was out for revenge on Neal for defying him that first time. Who knew what he'd do to Neal once he finished the painting. Peter would be on the case though, Neal just had to have faith that Peter would find him.

Footsteps sounded outside his room. They paused before there was a click and the door swung open. Richard stepped into the room looking fresh and well rested. He, unlike Neal, had had a restful night. His ever-present thugs were a step behind him.

"So have you thought about our offer Caffrey?" Tayland took another step into the room. "I'd hate to see what happened yesterday happen again."

"I have considered your offer and it's still a no." Neal shrugged painfully. "And I'm not sure you have anything left to convince me with." He decided it was time to play his one and only card. "I'm no use to you if you kill me," Neal told them. "And I can hardly paint if I'm in agony or unconscious so breaking more bones is out."

Tayland seemed to consider this for a moment.

"You know Caffrey is right." He turned to one of his men. "Go fetch the woman. We'll break her bones instead." The thug nodded and left the room. Neal watched in horror as he returned moments later dragging a struggling Elizabeth.

No, she wasn't supposed to be there! Tayland had only wanted Neal!

The thug growled as Elizabeth managed to land a kick to his shin. He responded with a slap across her face that stunned the woman.

"These are your new terms." Tayland walked from Neal to Elizabeth. "Do the painting, or your friend will be in some serious pain. There are 206 bones in the human body Caffrey," he leant down to grab Elizabeth's chin. "How many will be have to break before you say yes?"

"I'll do it." Neal was pushing himself away from the wall. "Leave her alone and I'll do the painting."

Tayland smiled. "I'm glad we could come to an agreement. We'll bring you what you need." He left the room and the two captives alone. Neal crawled over to Elizabeth.

"El, are you ok? God, I'm so sorry. This was never meant to happen!" He looked at her in the dim light. She had some bruises that he could see on her face.

"This is all my fault. I'm sorry El."

Elizabeth was nodding.

"Yes Neal, you weren't exactly clever about this." Same old El, but her voice shook when she spoke. "But they got past the Agents outside somehow and you couldn't have helped that."

"I lead them to you. Peter is going to kill me."

"He's going to find us, isn't he Neal?" Neal had never heard Elizabeth sound so unsure about anything.

"Of course he is," he assured her. "He found me each time. We'll just do as they say and stay safe until he does." He couldn't afford to oppose Richard now that he knew Elizabeth had been taken too. Neal would never willingly put her life in danger.

"Safe like your arm? Neal will you still be able to paint? God, it looks painful." Elizabeth reached to touch the damaged limb and Neal flinched, keeping his sore arm held tightly to him.

"I'm right handed so I can still paint. It will just make things more difficult."

"You're going to do this then?" Elizabeth asked.

"I don't have a choice. I've put you in enough danger."

...

Not long after they left Tayland's men had a photo of the painting with them. It was Van Gogh's _The Starry Night_**.** They also brought with them a prepared canvas and a box of paints and brushes. Neal rummaged through the box in disgust.

"You can't be serious." He dismissed the box and examined the canvas. "What is this? You want me to recreate a Van Gogh with your cheap oil paints and a badly stretched canvas? Any professional would notice the forgery in an instant. This canvas is cotton, the weave is loose, I can tell this through the ground and you expect me to create something that will fool the museum staff?"

He picked the canvas up with his right hand and carefully turned it over. "Well it can be tightened at least." He noted the keys tucked into the wooden frame. "I'm going to need a hammer."

The two men looked at each other.

"You'll work with what you've been given." For the first time one of them spoke.

"And if I was in a highschool art class then what you've given me would be just fine." Neal tossed the canvas back onto the floor. "But guys, really, this is just the slightest bit insulting." Maybe a charming Neal Caffrey grin would help lighten the mood in the room... it didn't. The goon who had spoken stepped over and grabbed Elizabeth by her hair.

"And I think Mr Tayland made it very clear what would happen if you refused to paint." He shoved Elizabeth had against the wall. She made a small sound of pain but continued to glare at the two thugs. It was she who caught on first.

"You don't care. Do you? You don't care if the painting is finished or not." She jabbed a finger at them. "This is just revenge for whatever Neal did. Isn't it?"

"Yes, it's true. Revenge is on my mind." Unbeknownst to the occupants of the small room, Richard Tayland had wandered in to watch. "Though that painting will come in handy. Some extra cash is always handy when hiding from the Feds, right Neal?"

"Well can I at least get a room with a better light?" Neal asked. "Otherwise this painting is going to end up looking northing like the original."

After a moments consideration Tayland nodded.

"I don't see the harm in a little light," he conceded. "Bring Caffrey, the woman too. She can watch him work, and she'll be close at hand if he decides to pull one of his tricks."

Neal and Elizabeth were grabbed roughly and hauled to their feet. Neal knocked his arm against his body as he rose and for a moment his vision went black and the pain burned up his arm. His sight returned and he was pulled through the doorway and into a hall. He tried to take note of what was around him and if there was any sign of an exit. All the doorways looked the same. There were no exit signs. The paintwork was plain and fading. The building was obviously an older one. Neal wondered if all the rooms were like the one they'd just been in. It had seemed pretty sturdy with its concrete floor and walls.

Tayland unlocked and opened another door down the hallway. Sunlight spilled out into the corridor.

"Here is your light. Now I want my painting."

Neal and Elizabeth were shoved forcefully into the room. Neal's painting materials were thrown in after them.

"Don't bother trying to escape out the window. It doesn't open and its triple paned. I can assure you that you will break before the window does." Tayland and his men backed out of the room. "Oh, and Caffrey, you have three days to finish the painting."

The door swung shut.

Neal walked to the window. It was large and let in a lot of natural light. The scene outside however gave him little hope. Even if he was to somehow get a message outside what would it say? _I'm on the second floor of a building with windows, in a street with no obvious landmarks. Come find me._

He sat down in the sunlight and picked up the picture. It was a beautiful painting and a good photo too. Taken in full light Neal could see the subtle differences in the paint layer that a photograph could obscure – for example he knew that the painting had areas of impasto but it didn't show well in the photograph**.** He examined the picture picking out the brush strokes and deciding how he would approach the forgery. Elizabeth came and sat beside him.

"So you'll paint it?"

Neal nodded. "I don't have much choice otherwise." He told her. "Could you pass me the canvas?" His brows knit in thought. "And your shoe too please."

"My shoe?" Elizabeth did as asked though her face showed her confusion. She passed Neal the canvas and took off her left shoe.

"You see these here?" Neal pointed out the small triangle shaped pieces of wood sticking out from the frame. "Hitting these will force the wood apart and stretch the canvas." He looked at the canvas for a moment and rotated it around.

"I'll need your help."

Elizabeth nodded and Neal directed her to hold the frame with one hand and the shoe with the other. He told her which of the keys to hit to tighten the canvas to the proper tension.

"Much better, thanks El" Neal took the frame back. "Now I can paint something."

* * *

A/N. It was a bit shorter than the previous chapter. Sorry. Next one will be longer, promise. Please hit that little button and review. Each one makes me oh so happy inside :)


	4. Chapter 4

Happy New Year everyone! I hope 2011 is awesome for you all and not long now until our favourite show is back! I know I'm excited! Look at all my exclamation marks!

Here is the next chapter. It's a little short. I've been very busy but not too busy to update and start on the next chapter. Hope you all like!

Disclaimer: Not my characters *sadface* just borrowing *evilwink*

* * *

Peter did not sleep at all that night. Hughes had told him to go home and reluctantly Peter had, but not before talking one of the other officers into giving him a copy of the interview transcript. After leaving the FBI headquarters he detoured to June's house to explain to the woman who had taken Neal in that he was missing.

"Did you see anything or anyone unusual around the house?" He asked her. "Either today or in the last few days?"

June shook her head sadly. "I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary. Neal's been spending a lot of time at your house lately." She noted. "So it's been rather quiet here."

Neal had been spending a lot of time with the Bourke's. They had just wrapped up a case, spending long nights in Peter and Elizabeth's living room going over long reports. With a rush of guilt Peter realised that not only had the kidnappers known Neal would be at the Bourke's, but also that he had failed to notice anything unusual in his own neighbourhood.

Peter thanked June for her co-operation and reassured her that the FBI was doing everything to find Neal. He did not tell her that Elizabeth had also been taken. It hurt too much to say the words.

He left the mansion and checked into a motel. His house was still a crime scene. So much for going home. It would be a couple of days before he would be able to go back there. Peter set himself up at the small table in the corner of the room and went though the transcripts. The man the FBI had arrested was a petty criminal who had been paid to break into a house in the next street. The arrangements had been made over the phone and he hadn't met the men paying him. Apparently he had no idea he'd been sent in as a distraction.

Peter read the transcripts over and over picking apart the words looking for clues. Morning found him slumped over the table with the papers still clutched in his tired fist. A knock on the door had Peter on his feet. He moved cautiously to the door and peeked at his visitor.

"How did you find me?" Peter opened the door and let Mozzie into the room.

"Not important Suit," Mozzie peered around uncomfortably at the shabby motel room. "You lost Neal. I have to say I'm getting tired of cleaning after you Feds. So much for my taxes going to good use."

Peter frowned. "I doubt you pay taxes Mozzie."

"That is not up for discussion. We need to find Neal, and your Mrs Suit." Mozzie looked as though he was trying to decided if it was safe to sit down on one of the motels faded chairs. He decided to stay standing. Placed like these were always crawling with germs.

"Do you think you could find them?" Peter had perked up at the suggestion. "_Legally_." He stressed the word.

Mozzie looked wary. "I'm not going to discuss my... process... with a suit." He thought for a moment. "Do you have a name? Anything?"

Peter found the name scrawled on paper. "Someone by the name of Richard Tayland. Apparently he wanted Neal for a job a few years back and Neal said no."

Mozzie was nodding in agreement. "Yes. Yes. I can work with this. He's slippery but I-" he looked at Peter. "-uh, know some people who know some people."

"Thanks Mozzie," Peter meant it.

"Yeah, yeah," the small bespectacled man was already at the door. "I'll be in touch."

As he left the room Peter called out. "Keep it legal Mozzie!"

...

"You should take a break."

Elizabeth moved to stand behind Neal. The former conman was kneeling on the floor; his left arm held in close to his chest, his right hand was carefully recreating a scene of the night's sky.

"Just let me finish this part here, then I have to let it dry a bit anyway."

Elizabeth watched Neal mix the paint on the floor. He'd found a palette in the box but couldn't hold it in his injured hand or hold it still against the floor while he mixed the colours and so hadn't used it.

It was amazing to watch him paint and see the image slowly come forth from the swirl of colour on the canvas, but as the minutes and then hours ticked by Elizabeth could see how exhausted Neal was and he must have been in agony. Even when he spoke it sounded like his teeth were clenched.

Reluctantly Neal put down his brush. The light outside was beginning to fade and he hadn't painted as much as he hoped. He stood up and stretched out his back and shoulders. He'd been crouching over the painting for hours.

Movement was painful and Neal bit his lip to hold back a gasp of pain. Elizabeth was standing in front of him. She guiding him over to the window and they sat.

"Let me see your arm Neal," her voice was soft but held an authority Neal didn't want to disobey. She reached out gently to touch the inflamed skin but pulled back at Neal's sharp intake of breath.

Elizabeth remembered back to when she was a child. She'd broken her arm when she was nine and she could still remember the horrible realisation of looking at her arm and seeing it bent out of shape.

Despite the swelling Elizabeth could see that the bones in Neal's arm had been displaced. They bulged under the skin, almost as though they were trying to break free of his very flesh.

"Neal this isn't good. You really need a doctor." At least the skin hadn't broken, Elizabeth thought to herself. She didn't think she'd be able to stand the sight.

"There's not much we can do about it now." Neal replied.

The door to the room swung open and just one of Tayland's men entered. He had a brown paper bag which he tossed to the two captives. Neal and Elizabeth watched warily from where they sat. Neal tried to take in as much as possible, trying to read something from the man's movements. If it was just the one person would Neal be able to take them? Maybe Elizabeth would be able to escape.

"Eat." It came out like an order before the big man left.

Elizabeth picked up the bag and peered inside.

"Mm, MacDonalds." She grimaced. She wasn't a fan of the greasy fast food. "Here." Elizabeth unwrapped one of the burgers and held it in front of Neal.

"No thanks. I'm not hungry." Neal pushed her hand away.

"When was the last time you ate Neal?" She waved the food in his face. "Breakfast the day before yesterday? You're running on empty."

Neal absentmindedly took the burger. He took a bite and swallowed quickly against the bile that rose in his throat. He was still thinking about the possibility in getting Elizabeth out of there. He was smaller than their bulky guards but surely they wouldn't be expecting it with Neal injured. The risks were high, yes, but if Neal could just buy enough time Elizabeth could escape and direct the FBI to where he was being held.

Neal placed the remainder of his food on the floor. He was lost in thought. He didn't think he was going to finish the painting in time. Oil paint simply took too long to dry. He had to get Elizabeth out.

Elizabeth watched Neal's expression carefully trying to decipher the look.

"What are you thinking?" She asked.

Neal told her his plan.

"Are you crazy? There is no way you could take on one of those men!" Elizabeth's voice rose. "Have you-" Realising the volume she dropped her voice back to a whisper. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I don't need to take them down, not really," Neal explained. "If I distract them for long enough you could get away."

Elizabeth scoffed. "And you'll distract them how? By letting them beat you? They'll kill you Neal!" Her tone became desperate. "You can't do this Neal. Wait for Peter. Just wait and then we'll be out of here and no one will get hurt."

Neal sighed. "The painting buys us three days - two really because today is already over. I'm not risking you being around when Tayland comes to collect the painting."

Whatever happened next - whether it was Peter and the FBI finding them, or Neal taking on one of their guards – he was getting Elizabeth out of there.

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A/N: I'm not great at keeping these guys in character. I think I'm going to have issues with this over the next few chapters. Thoughts? :)


	5. Chapter 5

Hey guys, it's been a while. I'm sorry I've been incredibly busy with uni and work but here is another chapter! Not many more to go now and I'll try to update more often. Thank you everyone who has reviewed. It absolutely makes my day! :)

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"Okay, so I talked to some people who know some people who own some people a favour."

Peter put up his hands to slow Mozzie's vocal onslaught.

"How about you come inside first," he suggested. After two days Peter had been allowed back into his home. It had been difficult. The house felt so empty without Elizabeth bustling from room to room talking about her day and telling stories about her clients. Peter and Mozzie were both standing in the doorway. Mozzie had opened his mouth to speak the moment Peter had pulled the door open.

The smaller man stood there assessing his options. It was the same every time he called upon the Burke's, never mind that he had been at their house dozens of times.

Peter sighed.

"Please Mozzie, just come inside."

His paranoid behaviour generally amused Peter, but the longer they both stood there the longer it would be before Peter got any answers that could lead him to his wife and his friends.

Mozzie stepped across the threshold and continued speaking.

"Okay, so I talked to some people who-"

"Yes, cut to the chase." Peter was growing impatient. Mozzie glared at him.

"I think I can find Neal and Mrs Suit." He walked into the lounge room and decided he would sit on the sofa. Peter sat down on the recliner opposite.

"You think you can find them?"

Mozzie considered this. "As I said the other day, Tayland is a slippery figure. He likes to move things around and stay difficult to be found. If he wants to meet you, he'll find you, you don't find him."

"So how are _we_ supposed to find him then?"

"From what I can gather he has about five buildings in this city alone where he likes to do his business. " Mozzie pulled a piece our paper from his pocket.

"Okay, are those the addresses? We'll send agents out to each of them, find Elizabeth and Neal and take down Tayland." Peter reached out for the paper.

"If you'd just wanted addresses I could have been back here yesterday." Mozzie shook his head and muttered, "suits." He unfolded the paper. "It took a lot of digging but I know when he was last at each address. There's almost a pattern but every so often he randomises it. People don't pick up on it, makes him difficult to predict." Mozzie pointed out the second address on the sheet. "I think they're here."

Peter leapt off the recliner and snatched the paper. "Mozzie, you're a genius." He rushed to the phone, leaving Mozzie mumbling problem solving skills, and dialled the Bureau. He was going to find his wife and bring her home... tonight.

...

The painting wasn't finished. The third day was drawing to a close and Neal had just finished the background. The image was taking shape among the colours but it was in no way a substitute for the real thing.

Neal had stopped painting at around midday. He wanted to be ready when the door opened but had passed the time since trying to fashion his paintbrushes into weapon. By rubbing the ends across the concrete floor Neal had tried to sand the tip into a sharper point but the cheap wood snapped as it became too thin. Neal had one brush that Elizabeth had helped him with, it would probably break as it came into contact with anything but it would probably also hurt.

Together Neal and Elizabeth waited in silence for something to happen. The suspense was agonising, or was it simply Neal's arm that was causing all the pain? Either way, the wait was hard.

The door opened and one of their guards stepped inside, carrying the now familiar paper take-away bag. Neal threw himself at their captor with all his strength, his makeshift weapon held high, and screamed at Elizabeth to run. He and their guard went down in a heap as Elizabeth dashed out the door. A surge of agony ran up Neal's left arm, as he and the thug rolled. He caught an elbow in his ribs and gasped as all the air escaped him. Swinging wildly with the paintbrush and trying to roll out from under the guard Neal had his weapon wrenched from his grip.

The larger man was gasping but making no real sound. Neal pushed himself up and away, limping for the door. A hand caught his leg and he went down hard, his chin hitting the floor. Neal saw stars but still managed to kick wildly with his feet, earning a breathy grunt from his attacker. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed the door. He turned to his captor and noticed with horror that the paintbrush had been stabbed into the larger mans throat. It was pulled out and the thug stood shakily. His breathing was harsh and wheezy. Neal pulled the door shut in a hurry, locking the other man inside.

He'd done it. Both Neal and Elizabeth had escaped from the room, but not the building. Neal had to find her and get her outside. He leaned for a moment against the locked door and took a shaky breath. He felt as though his body was barely holding together. There wasn't an inch of him that didn't hurt. A loud thumping on the door behind him snapped Neal back into reality. He could hear footsteps off to his left, getting louder. He turned to his right and ran, hoping Elizabeth had gone in the same direction.

Neal rounded a corner at the end of the hall. _Thump!_ He tripped over the huddled figure and fought to keep standing. The room was spinning madly around him. A small hand steadied him and Neal realised just who he had run into.

"Elizabeth! Why are you still here?" He tried to keep his voice to a whisper. It cracked slightly on some of the syllables. He'd failed. Elizabeth hadn't escaped and now there were angry men chasing them.

"This corridor is a dead end," she replied. "The exit must be back the other way."

Neal tried one of the doors along the corridor. It was unlocked. He and Elizabeth ducked into the room to hide.

Inside Neal wiped his sweaty face with the back of his hand and tried to think. It was just too hard. His chest ached, his chin stung and above all else his wrist was sending electric waves of agony up his arm. How was he supposed to think like this?

He looked down at the offending limb and was surprised to see blood. He hadn't even noticed it until that moment but now he could feel it, cold and sticky, as it leaked over his hand and between his fingers. Neal could see a glimmer of bone. In the fight he had landed on his arm, hard, the impact had caused the bone to push through the skin.

Neal took a shaky breath. He had to push past the pain. He still had to get Elizabeth out of the building. In the hallway outside he could hear the footsteps, they were slower now and it sounded as though the guards were almost to their door. Neal thought hard.

"El, in a minute you're going to make a run for it," he whispered. "As soon as the guards get past the door. I want you to run as fast and as hard as you can. Ok?"

Elizabeth nodded slowly. "What about you? Don't do anything stupid Neal. Promise me."

"I promise El."

They listened as the footsteps came closer and closer and closer. The guards were now right outside the door. Another step and another. Slowly the sound of footsteps retreated up towards the end of the corridor.

Ever so gently Neal eased the door open, glad that it opened into the room.

He whispered his command to Elizabeth.

"Go!"

They ran.

* * *

Hope you liked. Again, I'll try to get the next one up soon. Please hit that little button below and leave a message. It inspires me to keep going. :)


	6. Chapter 6

I come before you now and humbly beg for forgiveness. It's been a really long time since I last updated. It's been a crazy twelve months but so worth it. I've just graduated from uni. YAY! I found this on my computer today and decided to finish it. I want the record to state that I know nothing about medicine. I'm an art student not a doctor so all errors are my own. I also apologise for any spelling/grammatical errors and I hope you enjoy the last chapter.

* * *

Peter stood outside the building Elizabeth and Neal were supposedly being held in. He was ready and waiting to enter the building. This was it, he was bringing them home.

With the rest of his men he went inside.

Neal and Elizabeth dashed around the corner and bolted down the hallway. There were yells behind them as the guards realised they were getting away. The end of the hallway was getting closer. Neal could see the staircase. Breathing hard Neal concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other.

Peter gave a frustrated as another room was found to be empty. He continued through the hallway. There was a stairwell ahead, maybe Elizabeth and Neal would be on the next floor. He made a motion and several men moved forward towards the staircase. Others broke off in small groups to look for alternative stairways or exits. Peter didn't want any door left uncovered. If Elizabeth and Neal were in the building he would find them, and the bastards who had taken them were _not_ getting away.

"Stop!"

Even with his heart beating loudly in his ears Neal caught the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

He pushed Elizabeth in front of him. She was propelled forwards towards the stairs and Neal was not far behind. He didn't doubt for a moment that Tayland would shoot. He just needed to get Elizabeth outside. If they could make it to the street maybe they could find someone with a phone or somewhere to hide until it was safe to move.

A loud shot rang out in the hall way.

Neal stumbled at the top of the stairs.

"Stop!"

The sound came from the next floor. It echoed down the stairway.

Peter's group readied themselves to go up the stairs. They had to do this right to avoid being bottlenecked at the top by the suspected enemy.  
Footsteps rang out. Someone was coming down the stairs.

They positioned themselves to shoot.

Elizabeth came hurtling down the staircase two steps at a time.

"Hold your fire!" Peter commanded.

Elizabeth gave a shriek at the sight of so many armed men waiting for her. She recognised Peter and went crashing into his arms. His arms tightened around his sobbing wife as a gunshot rang out above and someone else came crashing down the stairs.

The figure landed in a heap at the bottom and groaned.

Elizabeth pulled on Peter. "Neal!" She cried. "Peter, it's Neal!"

Someone else was on the staircase now. Footsteps were slow and deliberate.

Tayland's gun was aimed at the crumpled mess. He hadn't even noticed the agents in his quest to get to Neal.

"FBI! Drop your weapon and put your hands on your head!"

Richard Tayland looked up startled. A mask slipped over his features, blanking out all emotion on his face, but his eyes twinkled as he weighed up his chances.

"Dammit! He's gonna take the shot!" Peter pushed his wife behind him while simultaneously raising his gun. Two shots fired almost at once and Tayland fell clutching his chest.

Peter and Elizabethe rushed to Neal and knelt over their friend. Lodged in the wood beside his head was the bullet from Taylands second gunshot. Peter took in Neal's injuries as people moved around them apprehending an unconscious Tayland and confirming that the building was secure. Medics were called.

"Peter," Neal's voice was barely more than a whisper. "You f-found us." He tried to move and caught a glimpse of his shoulder before Peter pushed him back down to put pressure on the wound.

"He shot me?" Neal sounded almost incredulous and if the situation wasn't so dire Peter would have laughed. Elizabeth choked back a small sound.

Paramedics arrived and took over from Peter to assess Neal's condition. He was quickly on a stretcher and carried outside to one of the waiting ambulances. Peter and Elizabeth followed.

Ma'am, you should really come get checked out," one of the paramedics was assessing the bruising on Elizabeth's face. It made Peter's heart wrench to see his wife looking like that. He encouraged her into the second ambulance and they made their way to the hospital.

Peter sat beside his wife in an uncomfortable, white, plastic chair. She'd been seen to by a triage nurse and declared fit to wait until a doctor was available. She sat now with her held pillowed on her husband's shoulder while they waited.

Neal had already disappeared behind a curtain by the time they had arrived and had been quickly whisked off to surgery to remove the bullet from his shoulder. That was all they had heard and now they had to wait.

After an hour Elizabeth's name was called. It was a busy night in Emergency and a doctor was finally free to confirm that her injuries were superficial and would heal just fine. They settled back in to wait for new s Neal.

"Family of Neal Caffrey?"

It had been several hours since they had arrived at the hospital. Diana and Jones had shown up to lend their support.

Peter stood as the doctor mentioned Neal's name.

"That's us," he told the doctor. The doctor looked at the small group, sceptical that they really were family. Peter retrieved his badge. "Neal's my Consultant and I have his Power of Attorney."

The doctor seemed satisfied by this.

"We've removed the bullet from his shoulder and done what we can to repair the damage and stop the bleeding. He was hit high on his left shoulder and it lodged in and broke his collar bone. He also had a compound fracture of his both his radius and ulna in his left arm. We cleaned the wound and pinned the bones."

"So he's going to be ok?" Elizabeth asked.

"Neither of these injuries are immediately life threatening, but there is a high risk of infection. Compound fractures are nasty. When the bone is exposed it's much more dangerous than just an open wound. Both his arm and his wound from the gun shot have been debrided and irrigated to remove any foreign particles and he's been put on antibiotics to prevent infection. He's also receiving transfusions to replace the blood he lost. On top of that there are some minor injuries, mostly superficial."

The doctor looked around the room at his little audience.

"He's in recovery now and you'll be informed when he's been settled in a room. If you have any questions don't hesitate to ask." He left the room and Elizabeth turned to Peter.

"He hurt his arm tackling one of the guards so I could get free. He saved my life more times then I can count over the last three days."

Peter stroked his wife's hair reassuringly and didn't say that Neal had also put her in danger indirectly by being vague about the information he'd given Peter.

They were soon approached by a nurse who escorted them to Neal's room. The con man was sleeping. Diana and Jones both bid Peter goodnight and left husband and wife to sit with Neal. He looked so pale against the crisp white hospital sheets. Tubes snaked from his wrist up to bags hanging over his bed.

The sleeping man groaned softly and his face scrunched up.

"Neal? Hun, you awake?" Elizabeth reached over to take Neal's hand, careful to avoid the IV's.

Neal turned his head slightly and his eyes opened to slits.

"lizbeth... P'ter." His eyes closed and he went back to sleep.

Peter wasn't sure how he managed to drag Elizabeth away from the hospital that night. Despite her exhaustion she had wanted to stay with Neal until visiting hours were over. The promise of a hot shower, clean clothes and a decent meal, not to mention a soft bed, drew her away. Neal would be okay and they would be back in the morning.

**Epilogue**

"Please tell me you have something for me to wear in there," Neal gestured to the duffel bag Peter was carried as he entered the room.

It had been a week since Neal and Elizabeth had been rescued and Neal was recovering well. His left arm was cast in a cast and immobilised in a sling to protect his damaged shoulder. The doctor said he was lucky to avoid infection but that recovery would take a long time. The doctor had also said that Neal could go home as long as he continued with his pain meds and made follow up appointments.

"Yeah, I've got your clothes." Peter dumped the bag on the bed and let Neal rummage through to pull out a shirt and a pair of navy slacks. "I looked all through your wardrobe. Do you own anything comfortable?"

Neal looked up at Peter. "These are comfortable." He gestured to the pants. He reached into the bag again and pulled out a pair of sweatpants. "What are these?"

"Pants. You might find them easier in your one handed state.

Neal raised an eyebrow, dumped the sweatpants back into the duffel and shooed Peter away so he could dress. Slowly and with a lot of discomfort he got the pants on over his feet and up to his hips but struggled with the button and zip. With a sigh he gave up on them and pulled out the sweatpants. He called Peter back when he was done.

"Don't say a word," He cautioned Peter. "I have a reputation to uphold."

Peter grinned. "The world isn't going to end because Neal Caffrey has to wear sweatpants."

The doctor came in then to finalise Neal's discharge.

"Come on then," Peter told him. "El's making lunch. I'm sure you're sick of hospital food."

Neal consented to being wheeled to the car park but insisted on getting into the car on his own. They were in El's shiny Focus as Peter had yet to get his car back from the garage. As Peter pulled out from the parking lot Neal rummaged around in the glove compartment.

"Oh look," he exclaimed, holding his treasure aloft. "A new pen." He clicked it then glanced over at Peter's face. A sly grin crossed Neal's features. He clicked it again.

The End.

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So, there it is. I hope you enjoyed it! To everyone who reviewed/favourited/etc thank you and I'm sorry if I didn't get back to everybody.


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